


The Things You Give Me

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Richonne - Freeform, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Richonne, oneshot.  ZA/AU.  He’s given her so much already, but it seems that there’s still more for them to share.





	The Things You Give Me

AN: So I had the request for a Richonne pregnancy fic. I am a multi-shipper (as anyone who reads my stuff knows) and I do write a great deal of babyfic, so I was thrilled to try my hand at this. There’s more on that at the end.

It should be noted that I *always* write Michonne as having had daughters in the past. It’s how I first met her (in the comics), and it’s how I always think of her. 

I own nothing from the Walking Dead, and I am not basing anything on canon since I haven’t watched with any sort of regularity since we lost Carl.

All that being said, I hope that you enjoy this for what it’s worth! Let me know what you think! 

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Michonne didn’t consider herself a scaredy-cat by any means. 

In a life that she’d lived so long ago, and in such a distant place from the space that she now occupied, that it seemed like a dream or a hallucination, she’d been afraid of a few more things than she was now. She’d been afraid of some horror movies, especially when she was home alone, and she hadn’t been a fan of things that flew around stinging people for no apparent reason.

Those fears had left her, though, as surely as she’d left that life behind.

Now bugs were the least of her problems and she practically lived in one of the horror movies that might have previously terrified her to the point of hiding under her blanket and hoping that she was hallucinating the bumping noises downstairs.

These days, Michonne would almost say that she wasn’t afraid of anything.

But that wasn’t true. 

She was afraid of loving and, more than that, of losing those she loved. She’d lost too much already.

And she had never been more terrified of anything than she was, at this moment, of a little plastic stick.

It wasn’t that Michonne didn’t love Rick—she loved him more than she thought possible. And it wasn’t that she didn’t want to continue to build their family together—because she already loved the family that they had.

But she feared that they had both suffered too much loss, and what should be a wonderful thing would simply be something that was overshadowed by that loss and the fear of more to come.

Alexandria was safe now. They were in a good place. The community was thriving. They had time to sit back and lick their wounds and grieve their dead. There was hope for a future for all of them.

Now was the perfect time for this if such a thing existed at all.

Michonne sighed and stood up from the spot she’d taken sitting on the side of the bathtub. She stopped eyeing the piece of plastic like it was a snake. She accepted that it had no ability to harm her and she picked it up off the bathroom counter. 

Still, courage gathered up and everything, she held her breath for a moment and closed her eyes before she looked at the piece of plastic. She tried to decide what she wanted it to say. She thought about how she would feel if it read one way or the other.

She remembered, for a moment, her daughters. She remembered Carl. 

And she reminded herself that she loved all three of them until the very end, and they loved her. No matter what the stick said, she wasn’t doing them some great disservice. She could even believe, perhaps, that they had found each other in some existence far away from this one. Perhaps they were smiling down on her this very moment, waiting for her to release her breath, open her eyes, and accept what her gut knew the piece of plastic had to say.

Michonne opened her eyes and stared at the parallel lines that predicted a future at least as accurately as any tea leaves ever had. She swallowed against the queasy feeling in her stomach and slowly she accepted what was written there. 

She wasn’t sure how she felt about things, but she didn’t have to decide on her own. 

That was one of the most wonderful things about her life now. She didn’t have to face anything on her own. 

Rick gave her that, as surely as he gave her everything else she needed to feel confident that she could face whatever she had to face. 

Now, it seemed, he was giving her something more.

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Michonne waited until dinner was done and Judith was tucked into bed. She waited until quiet had descended upon the house and Rick was relaxed. She waited until he was out of the shower, his teeth brushed, resting in bed—reading a book by lamplight like they lived in a world where nothing had ever been unusual and all of them read books by lamplight.

She washed her face and brushed her teeth. She smoothed lotion into her skin and examined her reflection in the mirror as she accepted that she was as ready for bed as she would ever be. She took one of the silk scarves from the drawer by the sink and she tied it carefully around her head. It was the floral one with small pastel flowers of nearly every color imaginable. For whatever reason, it was Rick’s favorite. It had been an odd sort of gift that he’d given her—something he’d found—after he’d learned that she preferred to sleep with the scarves.

She wore it to remind him that she appreciated him and everything he did for her. She appreciated everything he gave her, no matter how simple. 

She ignored the fact that her pulse was noticeably picking up and her breathing was coming in shorter, more ragged breaths despite the lack of any noteworthy danger in her surroundings. 

One last look in the mirror, and Michonne opened the bathroom door and stepped out. 

Rick sniffed the air for a moment as soon as the door was open and the scent of soaps and creams drifted out with Michonne. He smiled to himself even before he looked at her. 

“You smell amazing,” Rick said. He smiled at her. “You look amazing, too. Where’d you get that nightgown?”

Michonne smiled at him. He reached a hand out in her direction and she crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. She took his hand and relished the simple pleasure of letting him sit and hold her fingers in his. She leaned and kissed him, nipping at his lip as she pulled away.

“Picked it up on a run,” Michonne said. “A while back.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Rick said. He pushed her back enough to examine her, again, from top to bottom. 

Whatever butterflies she’d been feeling in her belly were slowly dissipating in the warmth of sharing the moment with him. 

“Gotta admit—I’m sorry I haven’t seen it before,” Rick said. 

Michonne smiled to herself. 

“I was saving it for a special occasion,” Michonne said. 

A quick look of panic flashed across Rick’s features. He nodded his head and hummed in introspection. When he spoke, Michonne couldn’t help but smile to herself. He sounded like his throat had gone dry in an instant—and he hadn’t even heard her news.

“Is it my birthday?” Rick asked.

Michonne shook her head.

“Your birthday?” He asked.

She swallowed down her laughter and shook her head again. She wasn’t trying to keep a straight face. At best, she was trying to keep from smiling hard enough that it made her face ache. 

“Anniversary?” Rick asked. 

She was pretty sure he changed colors. So she simply leaned forward and erased some of his concerns with a reassuring kiss.

“It’s not an important date,” she assured him, breaking away from the kiss. “At least—not yet. It might be one that we remember, though.” 

Rick furrowed his brow at her. She could see the overall change in his demeanor. She could practically feel his nervousness. She was aware that he was breathing more quickly and shallower than he had been before. When he swallowed, his throat moved like he’d tried to swallow down dry cotton balls.

And the need to erase the concern and worry from his features evaporated any leftover fear that Michonne might feel.

She smiled at him reassuringly. 

“The only thing I need to know from you,” Michonne said, “is if you’d rather it were a boy or a girl?”

He looked perplexed, but not as worried as before. 

“If you don’t say something,” Michonne said, swallowing back her smile a little more, “then I’m going to start thinking that you’re—you’re not happy about this.”

“Are you serious?” Rick asked.

“I can be sensitive about this kind of thing,” Michonne teased. “I’m absolutely serious. I expect some kind of response.” 

Rick’s hands grabbed the top of her arms and squeezed. He worked his way down her arm, squeezing with each movement. Then his hands found her face. His tongue, it seemed, had still not found words, but she allowed him the time it took to process such important information. 

She wasn’t going to tell him, after all, exactly how long she sat on the side of the bathtub and stared accusingly at an innocent plastic stick.

His hands were trembling and she turned her face to kiss his palm.

“Are you serious?” He repeated.

Michonne kissed his palm again and brought her own hand up to hold his. 

“I’m serious,” she said. “And I’m going to ask you to—tell me you’re happy. And I hope you don’t have to lie to me to do that. Because this is happening and I can do it alone it if I have to, but...I don’t want to do it alone.”

Rick let out the first sound of something like ironic laughter that caught in his overly dry throat. 

“You never have to do anything alone again, Michonne,” Rick said. “Never.”

“Does this mean you’re happy?” Michonne asked.

Rick pulled his hands free from hers just so that he could catch her face. He rubbed his fingers affectionately on her skin before he pulled her toward him and hungrily kissed her. Michonne let herself sink forward onto him and he rearranged himself so that she could be more comfortable resting chest to chest with him.

“I should have expected it,” Rick said. “But—I didn’t expect it.”

“It was a surprise to me too,” Michonne assured him. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” 

“I don’t care,” Rick said. “I don’t. As long as it’s healthy and...” He paused.

“What?” Michonne asked, straightening up. Her stomach clenched in response to his sudden silence and slightly twisted features.

“I don’t even want to say it,” Rick said. “God—as long as you’re healthy...”

Her chest tightened and she did her best to kiss away his concern, but it still lingered there when she pulled back from pressing their lips together. She rubbed her fingers over his face to relax his muscles that way. 

Of course he would worry. Of course his mind would go to dark places. She knew how he had lost Lori.

“My girls were natural births,” Michonne said. “Both of them. I can’t promise you things that are beyond my control, Rick. But I have a lot to live for, and I’m going to do everything I can to be here to enjoy this—you and Judith and...our baby.”

He seemed soothed by her words. He smiled at her. The smile was contagious, and Michonne caught it. She only realized that she’d been strongly affected by the moment when he reached up and brushed a stray tear from her lower lid.

“Our baby,” Rick said. 

“Yeah,” Michonne said softly. “Our baby.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it,” Rick said. “It sounds good—coming out of your mouth.”

“Judith will be a big sister,” Michonne said. 

“Carl would have been thrilled,” Rick said. 

Michonne swallowed and nodded her head. 

“I like to think—somewhere—maybe he knows. Maybe he’s happy. With the girls.”

Rick swallowed and nodded. 

“I’m sure he is,” he agreed. 

He moved over in the bed, making more room for Michonne beside him. He patted the space on the mattress that he’d just left vacant. 

“Come here,” he said, “get in bed. You’re going to need—you’re going to need your rest.” 

Michonne didn’t fight with him. She slid into bed beside him and arranged herself so that she could lean against him. He hesitated, pulled his hand back once, but finally settled with delicately—and somewhat nervously—resting his hand over her still practically non-existent belly. The gesture made her heart beat wildly and she covered his hand with her own. 

“I’m not an invalid, you know,” Michonne said. 

Rick laughed to himself.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he assured her. “But—I still want to take care of you. There really isn’t anything else I can do for you.”

Michonne snuggled in closer to him and rested her head against him. 

“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “You do more for me than you even know. And for our children, too. All of them. You give me so much.” 

“And you give it all back to me,” Rick assured her. “Tenfold.”

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AN: I’ll be the first to admit that while I feel very comfortable writing Michonne’s character in other stories/ships, I just haven’t ever found my niche/rhythm with Richonne. I keep trying, though. I hope this brought you some entertainment at least!


End file.
